Lost Kitten
by drollicpixie
Summary: "Foxx has dick sucking lips. That's way more likely how she 'landed a husband' than her poise." AU - Zoe/Kyle, Zoe/Madison flirtation. In a world sans witchcraft Zoe is enrolled at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, a finishing school, whose motto is: Give us a girl and take back a lady. Episode 1, minus the supernatural elements. Rated M.


A/N – I am allowing Zoe to be kind of weepy and weak (circa episode 3x02) due to the fact that she is horrified and everything is just so new(!) and scary to her. I mean, she is murdering guys all over the place… Otherwise, in any other situation, I am quite certain that she would be a badass.

This little idea came to me as I wondered, somewhat repeatedly, how that party might have gone if there had been no such thing as witches or witchcraft. This is what came out of those thoughts. This story is obviously AU. The Madison rape does not occur. Warnings for language, drug and alcohol use, sexual situations.

Why do I always end up rushing to post the night/morning before a new episode? I don't know if this idea works, really, but I was intrigued by the concept, so here is what I came up with...

Zoe/Kyle, Zoe/Madison flirtation - Rated M

Disclaimer - I do not own American Horror Story...just the idea for this little fic is mine.

* * *

Lost Kitten

_I like to have a martini, two at the very most. After three I'm under the table, after four I'm under my host. _- Dorothy Parker

"You're sending me away?" I wailed in anger.

"I'm sorry, baby," my mother frowned, "we can't keep you here anymore. Clearly we can't help you," she stammered, eyes downcast and shy, "with this."

"I get caught having sex with a boy in my room, one time, and you ship me off to boarding school?" My bags were already packed, a black travel case, two suitcases, waiting by the door. "Mama!" I stamped my foot, spinning as I heard approaching steps. Two men in black suits appeared, collecting my things, a woman behind, waiting patiently, her impassive gaze boring into me. "You can't be serious!" I was on the verge of tears but did all that I could to hold them back. I refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry like some orphan being cast aside.

"She'll be well looked after, Nora," the redhead explained to my mother, tone soothing. Mom just nodded, handkerchief drying her damp, red rimmed, eyes.

"Fucking bitch," I muttered darkly, gaze narrowed at the woman who gave me life, my father hidden away in his study, as the two men led me from the room, my hands clutched tightly around my oversized purse.

And just like that I was enrolled at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. A school with a long and fucking proud history if the pamphlet I had been given was to be believed. In the heart of New Orleans, a stone's throw from the Latin Quarter, Bourbon Street.

A finishing school. What the fuck was that? It sounded so colonial, outdated. I thought those kinds of places had gone out fashion with giving women the right to vote and shit. Were they grooming me for marriage? A life of boredom?

Miss Robichaux's motto: Give us a girl and take back a lady. It was a joke. A horrible prank. I mean, I knew that my parents wanted a certain future, lifestyle, for me but did they expect tennis games and tea parties to help me accomplish those goals? "Giving young women the freedom to grow and express themselves in a safe haven. Building friendships that will last a lifetime!" The more I read the wider my eyes grew. It was archaic. Chauvinistic. Fucking expensive. Holy shit, I boggled, those were the tuition prices? Looked like Mama and Daddy were blowing my college fund. Unless this had been their plan all along, I sighed.

* * *

The school, mansion, whatever, looked like something right out of a period piece about the civil war. Columns and creeping ivy, a wrought iron fence and sweeping lawn. The inside was the same. Grand staircase, polished hardwoods, minimal furnishings and a fireplace in every room.

My whitewashed room was nice enough. At least I didn't have to share with some southern belle on a husband hunt or whoever most charm school attendees were. There were lace curtains, a brass bed, exquisite landscape paintings adorning the walls. The wardrobe was my only real bone of contention. I was expected to cram all of my belongings into it? I hoped it backed into Narnia because otherwise that was never going to fucking happen.

There was little I could do, or at least wanted to do, in the short time I had before I was expected downstairs. Digging around in my bag I managed to find the small beaded purse kept there. Flipping the clasp I reached in to pull out a joint and lit it up, inhaled, held the smoke, and exhaled out of my second story window as I looked down at the lush green garden and little stone patio behind the house. Eventually my stash would dwindle to nothing; no pot, no coke, no pills and I would be left to suffer, sober. The mere thought of it made a small shiver run down my spine. I had to know someone with a connection in New Orleans. Or, I puffed, I would need to get out there, into that wide wild world, and meet someone myself. Either way, I was not being kept, trapped, in a gilded cage like some beautiful exotic pet.

Mama and Daddy had tried penning me up already and it ended with me landed at Miss Robichaux's. What was the next step? When my finishing school wanted me gone just as much as my parents had? Switzerland? Community College? Either option did not appeal, leaving me to grimace and stub out my roach, closing the window.

* * *

The first time I met the other exceptional ladies who called Miss Robichaux's home was at afternoon gathering. Another way of saying tea. The blond woman, Ms. Foxx, who had handled my admittance was admonishing an unhappy dark haired girl, "Nan! How many times must I remind you that a lady sits with legs crossed at the ankle?"

"Sorry," Nan grumbled around a swallow of tea, doing as she was told. I couldn't hold back the sigh, the eye roll.

"Ah, Zoe, wonderful. Won't you join us?"

"Like I have a choice," I hushed under my breath as her pink lips curved into a pouting smile.

There were another two other girls perched on a white damask loveseat. Was everything in the fucking school white? Did no one ever spill anything?

I took the remaining empty chair, Nan smiled, pouring me a cup of steaming black tea. "Is this all of you?" I asked, taking the saucer from her with a nod.

"In our heyday the academy was home to as many as sixty girls but we, Zoe, are a dying breed," Foxx explained. A breed that we should let die, I thought, but chose to say nothing. "We are under siege," her eyes cast over the group of us, "our way of life, who we are, and what we stand for."

The slim, pretty, blond girl across from me disguised her gagging with a hand mostly over her mouth so that only I could observe. And that was when it struck me. "Holy shit, are you…"

"Madison Montgomery, movie star." Her lips quirked, eyes flashing with something akin to pride at being recognized.

"Shit, when was the last time you made a movie, girl?" Her seat partner lifted a brow, frowning.

"Ladies!" Ms. Foxx commanded, drawing our attention. "You know how I feel about profanity. A well-bred woman does not express herself with lewd, coarse language."

"I'm Queenie," the larger girl announced, all but ignoring the comment. She looked the least likely of any of us to be taking tea in Miss Robichaux's siting room. Cut-off camouflage shorts, a t-shirt emblazed with the word 'Freak'. Was she there to bag a rich dude? I mean, it took all types, but still. Could charm school be court ordered?

"So bored now," Madison huffed and our guide into womanhood, or whatever Foxx was, actually simpered. Clearly I had discovered her prized pupil.

* * *

Dinner was much the same as our time together in the afternoon. Only we were required to "dress properly" for it as Nan had told me. And Foxx chose to take the meal in her private apartments with her husband, leaving us girls alone, to get to know one another I supposed.

I wore a white sweater dress, off the shoulder, a gold necklace with cameo pendant and pearl earrings. Madison was in a fucking fur stole. Where was I and who were these people?

As the first course, soup, was served to us, the girl beside me argued with Spalding, the butler, provoking him. "Hey Jeeves, can I get some iceberg lettuce with a side of blue cheese?" Her face was flat, placid, but her eyes held a glint of mirth.

"Girl," Queenie shook her head, "be nice to him. Poor bastard ain't got no tongue." Holy shit, my eyes darted across the table, was that true?

Madison voiced the question racing through my thoughts, "Is that true Jeeves? Did you use your tongue for something wicked? Or maybe you just suck at going down?" My bowl clanked down on the plate in front of me a little harder than was strictly necessary. Apparently she managed to get under his skin. I imagined it was a talent of hers. "Oh, come on Jeeves, show us your stump so we can put it to use!" Fuck, I choked, holding back laughter. The other two girls at the table however did not appear to find the comment amusing.

When the empty food cart was wheeled away and the four of us were left alone again Madison turned her wearied gaze on me. "So, new girl, what brings you to Miss. Robichaux's?"

Nan looked on with a smile, encouraging me. But I didn't feel like talking, telling them about Charlie, about my parents banishing me from their sight. Fuck that. "Why are you here?" I asked instead, turning the focus away from myself.

She rolled her eyes, "Whatever. My agent staged an intervention. Ever since that drunk and disorderly he's been on my ass. So I'm here to improve my image. Show the whole fucking world what a good girl I can be."

Queenie huffed, "She's just another D-list Botox bimbo, Zoe." I glanced between the two while Nan looked nervous.

"Fucking bitch," Madison exploded as the larger girl glared. "Fucking charity-case. You know you don't belong here," and Queenie stood, knocking her chair back and over, slamming her fists on the table. I got the distinct impression that they had had similar arguments in the past.

"That is it. That's it! I have had it with you." I thought Queenie was going to lunge forward right through the flames of the candelabra.

"Stop!" Nan hollered also getting to her feet. "Queenie, you're going to get yourself in trouble," she caught the other girl's arm. "Let's just go for a walk."

"A walk? Fuck." But she turned, let herself be lead away, Nan consoling her friend as they went. "I'm not hungry anyway."

"Like anyone believes that," Madison mumbled to the half empty room. I stared back at her with wide eyes. Sighing she added, "Well, that was disturbing." Then a moment later, "Given the choices around here it looks like you're my new best friend."

I raised one manicured brow before the table came to life with the sound of vibration against polished wood. Madison's phone lit as she checked it, grinning. "Do you have any clothes that don't come from the Gap?" She queried with a snide grin on her pretty face.

I felt my spine go rigid, a denial already working its way from my throat. "Whoa, I do not shop at the fucking Gap, I got this at…"

"Chill, Bambi." She rolled her eyes.

"Bambi?" I repeated dumbly, previous insult forgotten.

"Yeah, you've got those big, baby deer eyes. A hunter just killed my mommy kind of thing." She shrugged, smirking, "Or like a little lost kitten." Then, "It works on you."

"Uh, thanks?"

"Whatever. Frat party tonight. Just got the tweet," She told me, excusing herself from the table. "Well," she studied me, staring down from her standing position, "stop wasting time. Go get ready because you certainly can not go out with me looking like that," and then she was gone.

I didn't move, not at first, thinking instead. Be Madison Montgomery's best friend? Sure, okay, I could probably handle that. Clearly she was the hook-up at Miss Robichaux's. And I had been friends with bitches in the past: high school, the club, tennis camp. Hell, I could be a real fucking bitch at times too. Maybe she was the exact exceptional lady I needed to get through this finishing school shit alive. Were we kindred spirits? I doubted it. But if anyone could get me coke, it would be her.

* * *

Forty minutes later Madison was perched on my bed, lower lip tucked between her teeth, tapping away on her phone and shooting me the occasional disgruntled glance. I had done little in the way of getting changed. I honestly hadn't thought we would have been able to sneak way from the house. Until I had been told that Madison had asked permission to go and that it had, obviously, as she put it, been granted.

"She's just letting us go?" I demanded, astonished, even as I began riffling through my suitcases, looking for something appropriate: black, tight, short, maybe strapless.

"How the fuck else do you think we're supposed to find the men who will take care of us when we leave this place?"

"Seriously?"

"We can do whatever we want so long as Foxy thinks it will help us land husbands." She grinned, "We just need to remain poised, well-bred ladies, who only drink from glassware, never plastic cups, or bottles, and who would never lower themselves to smoke standing up." Her head cocked to the side, eyes roving over me as I tugged the sweater dress down, "Or screw poor boys with no prospects."

Fuck, I spun around, how had she figured me out so easily? Was there a school bulletin or something? I loved a roll with a boy from the proverbial wrong side of the tracks. Their lack of pretentions, genuine smiles, and ten year old cars with cozy as hell backseats. Charlie had a single mom, she worked two jobs, and he was trying to land a scholarship to our local state school. My interest in him made Daddy's blood boil. Mama pretended he didn't exist, it wasn't happening. Until she found him balls-deep inside of me, midafternoon, her tartan curtains billowing in the soft breeze. If it had been some shithead from the club she probably would have muttered a quick apology and scurried into the kitchen to see what the maid had cooked up for supper. But I didn't want to get into that with Madison Montgomery, not here, not now, maybe never.

"Foxx has dick sucking lips," I said, deflecting. "That's way more likely how she 'landed a husband'," I air quoted, "than her poise."

The other girl laughed uproariously. She had a dirty laugh. "Oh, I like you, Zoe," and just like that she was off the bed, prancing over to me, taking my face in her hands, as her mouth met mine. Soft, cherry flavored lips slid against my own. It only lasted a few seconds but when she pulled back I stared, confused, caught off guard, standing stunned in my underwear. Was it a test?

Finally I managed, "What the fuck, Madison?" But her only response was a smirk, a wink, before she turned and sauntered from the room, hips swaying in her tight gold dress, assuming I would obediently follow behind. And I fucking did.

Before we left I found a vial of coke, rolling it between my palms questioning whether a Tulane fraternity party was worth the diminishment of my stash. Fuck, I finally decided, of course it was.

"You want to bump a line of this?" I asked as Madison strolled out of the bathroom.

She shot me that million watt smile that I had only ever seen on a movie screen. "I knew we were going to be BFF, Zoe." She did one up each nostril, waving her hand in the air and dancing around. "Fuck, yeah," she breathed. "Let's party."

* * *

Tau Omega Alpha. It was another fucking mansion, straight out of _Gone With the Wind _or some shit. And the place was packed, bodies covering the lawn, pressed into every window, as colored strobe lights lit them from behind. I felt my mouth hang open a little and tried to snap it closed before my friend caught me looking around like a slack-jawed yokel. I had never felt so sheltered or suburban in my entire life.

As we entered, slowly winding our way down the hall, the crush of people, sweating and drinking, talking and dry humping, seemed to intensify. The walls closing in around us as the door shut at our backs. I was giddy, my heart racing, and Madison bounced on her toes beside me. The music blared, some Euro-trash beat I had probably heard a thousand times or had never heard at all.

"Oh my god," a girl nearby called out, "that's Madison Montgomery," and I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. That could get fucking annoying. Boys turned in our direction, girls whispered, quite suddenly it seemed like the focus of the entire party was on us. Or on the girl beside me at least. And she just offered them an impassive grin, informing the group on a whole that they were already boring her without uttering a word.

"What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?" She sighed, angling a narrow hip forward, and glancing around the room.

"Come with me," the awestruck girl, wearing a handkerchief dress and a sweater tied around her shoulders declared, taking my companion's hand and never sparing a moment to notice me. Now that girl shopped at the fucking Gap.

Madison however held back, reaching out for me, hand lingering on my arm for a moment as she gazed up at me through long black lashes. "If you get bored or decide you don't like any of these little pricks, come find me. I bet I could keep you entertained." She smirked briefly before nibbling her plum stained lower lip and then vanished into the crowd with her social-climbing sorority girl.

Was Madison fucking Montgomery flirting with me? It really fucking seemed like it. And, I mean, yeah, it was kind of hot and all but maybe I was imagining things. Maybe she was like that with everyone, all of her pets. Fuck, I was her pet wasn't I?

And I found myself alone, attempting to navigate the length of the hall with almost zero lighting, and in heels that I only wore so Madison would shut up. I had to take tiny steps to stay standing upright and all I could fucking think about was getting a drink in my hand. The black, one shouldered, dress I had chosen to wear, dripping in sequins, sparkled in the vibrantly colored lights, riding up my thighs with every step that I took. But I just tugged lightly, sighing, and followed in the direction I thought the two girls had gone in. Instead of winding up in front of a keg or a vat filled with some lethal punch concoction, I was standing in front of an ice sculpture. At a fraternity party. An ice sculpture. I eyed it dubiously. They had even carved the houses' Greek letters into its surface.

The table before me was littered with cups. Empty ones. I blew out a breath, annoyed, with Madison, with my whole fucking life and glanced up. Only to be taken in by the pale face of a blond boy, dark eyes watching me through the filter of frozen water between us. And then he smiled, sweet, genuine, and all I could think about was Charlie. How we had left things.

After mom, catching us, whatever, and all but booting him out of the house, he called. Repeatedly. But I didn't know what to say to him, how to explain. He had been a good lay and I liked him, but not that much, not enough to keep up the fight with Mama and Daddy, not enough to lose everything over.

When we did finally speak, when I told him it was over, he cried. Sobbed, coughed into the phone. Asked me why, begged me not to do it, to cut him out of my life, told me he loved me. But I was resolved. I had made my choice.

And in the end it hadn't even mattered because those shitheads sent me away anyway.

So with a sigh, a sad smile, I turned and walked in the opposite direction. Sure, I wanted to get fucked, needed to. It had been weeks. But I couldn't handle it, him, the guy with those eyes and that mouth.

There was a room at the back of the party crowded with couples, lips locked, hands on thighs, moans and heavy breathing. But there was no keg. Fuck, were they hiding the booze from me intentionally, I wondered? Making my way back to the large main room, the one that resembled some shitty night club, I turned and was stopped in my tracks by the same boy from earlier. And he was holding two fucking cups.

"I thought you looked thirsty," he smiled, extending one of them, filled with red punch and floating strawberries, to me. He was a fucking god-send. And I softened a little to the idea of him.

"Is that your superpower?" I inquired with a hint of a smirk because he was really cute. Maybe even fucking hot. And my heart was beating just a bit too fast. Both of his darker brows rose up into his hair, bleached blond locks sweeping his forehead. When he didn't respond I clarified, "You can sense dehydration."

"One of them," he grinned and I felt my lips lifting yet a little further.

I snuck a sip of whatever was in my cup, momentarily questioning the intelligence of drinking something given to me by a complete stranger, at a party. And then thought, fuck it. Whatever it was, it was potent, but it went down smoothly enough and I followed my first sip rapidly with a second and third.

"So," I eyed his shirt, "frat boy?" He nodded. "I think frats are full of fascists." It was true but I only really said it to get a rise out of him, to poke him with a stick, see what he would do. I belonged to a country club and it was filled with fascists too.

But he didn't take the bait, just quirked his lips and said so earnestly it almost hurt, "I don't mind being reduced to a stereotype but," he swallowed, "I'm on a scholarship. My mama lives down in the ninth ward." And holy fuck, we could stop right there. I felt myself leaning infinitesimally closer as I wet my lips. He was hitting all of my buttons. And then the god damn dimples were out. Was that a freckle on the edge of his nose?

"And besides, didn't you come here with a movie star?" He wasn't even going to let me get away with that shit, he was calling me on it. If I had bothered to wear panties they either a) would have been creamed, dripping even or b) would have combusted. Instead I felt my thighs slip against one another as I emptied my drink.

"You want another one?" He grinned.

I shrugged my shoulders, "Sure," and let him lead the way, his hand on the small of my back. I had already broken the ladies only drink out of glassware rule, I might as well really enjoy myself. Maybe I would even bum a cigarette off of someone and smoke it standing up. What a fucking rebel.

He guided me through the party room, down another dark hallway, and into an all season porch that appeared to wrap around the entire length of the back of the house. Chinese lanterns were hung around the perimeter and in the center was a table covered in booze, the keg, the vat of punch I had wondered about earlier.

Taking my cup he poured me some more punch, being sure to scoop a few fresh strawberries from the bowl beside it. I took it with a grin, "I'm Zoe, by the way."

His eyes went comically wide, mouth dropping open slightly. "Fuck," he breathed, "I'm sorry, I never," he shook his head, hair flopping. "I'm Kyle, Kyle Spencer." For a moment I thought he was going to reach out, shake my hand, my lips quirked, he didn't.

* * *

Eventually we found ourselves standing, chatting, on the grand staircase, surrounded by other people talking and a couple gyrating to the music, which appeared at least marginally dangerous to me.

"So, like," I grimaced at my own utter inability to form a proper, intelligent sentence, "what's your major?"

He laughed as I stared down into my third glass of punch, frowning, "You look so disgusted by the mere thought of it."

"Yeah, well…"

"Political science," he sipped a gin and tonic that was more gin than anything else. "I think I might want to go to law school." I cocked a brow. Kyle was ambitious. "I'm really interested in the whole political scene, you know? I might want to do that some day."

I grinned sardonically, " You want to be a politician?" He was suddenly bashful, cheeks tinted pink, as he studied me.

"So, what about you?"

"Me?" Fuck, I didn't know what I wanted to be. Not a dutiful little wife, a socialite, like Foxx wanted. But I hadn't put real thought into any of the other options either.

"Yeah, where do you go to school? You're not at Tulane are you? I don't think I've ever seen you around before," and then the flush was rising up into his hairline, down his neck. "I certainly would have remembered you."

His shy streak was so hot. I wondered how many girls he had fucked. My guess was three. Some serious high school girlfriend he lost it to but they broke up because of college and distance and growing up, growing apart. And then there would have been another two since, maybe a rebound, and a friend, but they never got serious. Or maybe it was all bullshit and this was just how he played it with every girl. I was going to fuck him, either way.

I blinked, threw back half of my drink, and rushed, "I'm at this all girl's school," trying for casual and failing. It sounded lame. Really fucking lame.

His eyes narrowed as his hand adjusted his belt, weight shifting from one leg to the other. "Look," he nibbled his lip sweetly. I wanted to do that, give it a tug and lave the pain away with my tongue. "You're not like, in high school are you? Because I just…" God, did he just stammer? Fuck, so adorable.

"No," I smirked, resting my elbow on the bannister, cursing my shoes, my underdeveloped calf muscles. "It's a finishing school."

"A finishing school?" Kyle repeated incredulously and I rolled my eyes skyward, taking a deep breath.

"Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies."

"Wow."

Fuck, I did not want to talk about that place. I just wanted him to suggest we take our discussion upstairs, to a backroom, a broom closet, his car, where-fucking-ever. "I don't want to talk about me anymore, okay?" I smiled, leaning further into him, allowing my fingers to nudge his, those amazingly dark eyes never straying from my face as his hand shifted, covering mine, playing with my smaller digits.

"You're the first hot girl I ever met who didn't want to talk about herself. There has got to be something wrong with you," he chuckled, pointing a finger from the hand clasped around his red cup. Kyle was on his fourth drink since he approached me. His words were slurring slightly and his gaze was less fixed, drawn ever more frequently downward to stare at my tits, my legs. And I bit my lip, fighting back the smile that wanted to break my face. Fuck, Kyle Spencer was not a part of the plan. But I always liked a good detour.

But then he glanced away, face falling, "I know," he sighed, covering his eyes dejectedly, leaving my hand cold, bereft, "you have a boyfriend." Was he being cute on purpose? Because it was just fucking ridiculous how cute he was.

"No," I shook my head, tongue darting out to moisten my lower lip, "I don't." And the fingers covering his face split, allowing me to see one pitch colored iris. The dimples were on display again as I rubbed my thighs together, feeling eager.

"Really?" He asked, moving upward to share my step, blocking me in with an arm on either side of me. "Now, how is that possible?"

"I'm hard to catch?" I smirked up at him and he chuckled. The next moment I slipped gracefully out from under his arm, rapidly flying up the stairs, hair trailing behind me. He was frozen in place, arms still stretched forward, hands gripping the bannister. I spun, eyes wide, excited, "Want to see if you're the man for the job?" And then I was racing upwards again, turning a tight corner and nearly plowing into two girls who stood gawking and sputtering. "Sorry," I called back, heading for the landing. Luckily I was too tipsy, to turned on, to feel pain, to remember how difficult my shoes could be. However, not thinking about them did not stop me from tripping up, over my own feet, and spilling out into the hallway, tumbling down to the Persian hallway runner, laughing at myself, empty punch cup rolling from my grip. My boy, not watching where he was going, landed atop of me in a mess of limbs and smiles and giggles.

"Shit," he breathed finally. But I didn't reply, instead allowing my legs to fall open underneath the weight of him as I gazed up with heavily lidded eyes. He stared down at me, mouth open, before he swallowed audibly. "Fuck."

"If you want," I returned, shrugging my shoulder as best I could, rolling my hips and making him groan.

We found a room: with a bed, a desk, a globe, and a chair covered in sweaters and jeans and other items belonging in a boy's closet.

"Is this okay?" He practically choked, closing the door behind us, leaning against it.

"Perfect," I cooed, studying the posters of half or fully naked women on the otherwise bare walls.

* * *

I was in his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, as our mouths worked feverishly against one another. His hands were hot, burning a path along my exposed flesh, as he worked his way to the single strap of my mini-dress, tugging it down and immediately exposing my breasts to the clammy air. I sucked in a breath as his head bent awkwardly, sucking a nipple into his mouth. I was riding him, grinding down into the stiffness tenting his pants, hands around his neck, tugging at, playing with the small curls I found there.

With some kind of primal groan he briefly stood as I clutched him to me, squeaking in surprise, before he deposited me on my back, sliding between my thighs, my dress riding up obscenely. Our new position made me pant, body rocking upward repeatedly, naturally, and of it's own volition. My fingers yanked at the hem of his polo, his thermal undershirt. "Take off," I grunted, wanting his skin against mine, burning me with its heat.

He pulled away reluctantly, rising on his knees and removed the offending garments, as my hands went to his belt, his fly, working them open.

"Are you sure you want…" The southern gentleman thing was sweet but I was so far past caring it was ridiculous. If I didn't have his cock in my cunt in the next ten seconds I was going to scream.

"Oh god," I groaned, "stop talking and fuck me."

"Yes, ma'am," Kyle grinned, all but saluting before he rucked my skirt up the rest of the way so it bunched around my waist. He paused, gazing down at me, biting his knuckle. I wet my lips, squirming under his intense examination. His desperate voice rasped out, "You're bare," and I nodded stupidly, tilting my hips upward, impatient, on the verge of whining. And then he was on top of me, my hands clumsily shoving his khakis down, taking his boxers with them.

"Do you have…" I stared up at him with wide, lust blown eyes, body trembling.

"Yeah," he replied, digging in the pocket of his pants while simultaneously casting them aside and shucking his vibrantly colored argyle socks, coming up with a purple foil packet. "Always prepared."

"Boy scout," I hummed, lids sliding closed, as I heard the tear, then felt the tip of him, hot and thick and needy, brushing at my entrance.

And for all of his blushing shy smiles, questioning glances, reassurances, Kyle was not a sweet or mellow fuck. After my final nod of acquiescence, he just plowed forward, impaling me on his cock, my breath catching as my eyes flew open. His arms went under my knees, hooking them in the crook of his elbows, holding me open. "Fuck," I moaned, a low keening sound as he pulled out and plunged back in, full lower lip caught between his teeth in concentration.

My hands went from passive participants splayed at my sides to Kyle's neck, over his shoulders, and down his back, dragging my nails along his bare, damp flesh. He grunted into my neck before wrenching himself back and slipping out of me with a wet, squelching sound. I mumbled a protest, head shaking back and forth on the pillow. I was so fucking close to coming. But he flipped me over, hands rough, touching me, stroking me, before thrusting back inside, making me quiver, flutter around him. I yelped, groaned. My face dropped onto the pillow, a smell of Axe body spray lingering on the dirty fabric, as my shoulders hit the mattress. Kyle held my hips up, steady, grinding himself into me, against my ass.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I panted.

"You got a dirty mouth on you," he breathed hotly into my ear, his body all but enveloping my own, chest melding into my back. Kyle's hair was wet, a drop of sweat falling onto my shoulder. "Maybe you do need charm school after all," he snorted, fingertips digging into the flesh around my hipbones as my body keened backward, searching for more. My mouth hung open as my forehead remained against the pillow. I might have been fucking drooling, but I couldn't bring myself to care. It was way too fucking delicious.

I came with a startled, mewling gasp, clamping down, body grasping, trying to hold onto his cock, as my shoulders, spine, went rigid.

"Oh, fuck," Kyle pulled back, straightening up and pounding me harder. My body, limp and pliant, slammed forward with each thrust. He finished with something akin to a grunt, maybe saying my name, but his speech was too rough, garbled. I sighed, hiccupped, as he withdrew and dropped down beside me, his chest on the mattress. Regaining some of my strength, my composure, I rolled over to stare up at the discolored, cracked, ceiling above us. He lay panting, face toward me, eyes closed, as I grinned, hand over my heart trying to slow its incessant pounding. "Wow," he breathed finally.

"Yeah," I concurred. Nothing further needed to be said. That was fuck-hot sex. Kyle turned then, resting on his side, lips ghosting along the tendons of my neck, tongue darting out to taste my sweat at random intervals. It didn't take long for me to feel it, the hardness of him, swelling against me. I smirked, "Round two?" His mouth stilled and his head shot up, eyes boring into mine as I stared back confused at his sudden change of mood.

"I only brought one," he trailed off, pouting. "I didn't even think I'd need that." I bit my lip, nodded. He was adorable. Made my chest ache. "But I thought I could," and he glanced down, fingers blazing a trail from my stiff peaked nipple to my clit, as he licked his lips. Oh, fuck. He wanted to go down on me. My thighs quivered, knees falling apart in silent invitation. "Is that," he started, continued, "would you mind?"

What kind of girls was he used to? Idiots? I groaned, "Oh, yes. Please," and was rewarded with the dimples.

But his tongue's progress down my feverish body was halted; there a commotion in the hall, just beyond our little sanctuary of sex. A thump, fists hammering on wood, screams and curses.

"Zoe!"

We both cast our eyes to the door. "Did someone just call you?" Kyle asked with a raised brow, his fingers probing, exploring, stroking.

"Fuck," I sighed, palm resting on his mess of blond curls, guiding him to where I wanted, needed, him most. "Just ignore it."

"Zoe!" Rang out a second time, a shrill voice cutting the air, carrying over the music still pounding downstairs. And with a growl I sat up, Kyle pulling back to stare at me with curious eyes.

"She is such an uber-bitch."

* * *

Dress tugged down and pulled up, my hair a rat's nest of sex, and shoes back on, killing me, I peered down the poorly lit corridor. Madison was staggered down the hallway toward me hugging the wall like it was a lifeline. "I think one of those shithead frat guys tried to slip something into my drink," she slurred, all but falling into my arms.

"I don't know if tried is the optimal word in this situation."

"The fuck?" she mumbled, disgruntled. Perhaps it was not the time for witty rejoinders. Or extensive vocabulary.

Kyle appeared behind me, head poking around the door jam. "Oh, shit. Is she okay?"

His fingers were fumbling at his fly, attempting to thread his belt through the buckle as he darted out into the hall, grabbing Madison's other arm and helping me guide her to the staircase.

"Drugs," Madison breathed before her head hung down, her body becoming a dead weight.

"And she's out," I sighed. So much for my getting a headful of blond curls pressed between my thighs. "I'm sorry about," I nodded pointedly down at my friend. "She said something about a guy spiking her drink. I don't think she knew what she was even saying and she's a bit of a drama queen…"

"Actresses," he rolled his eyes, biting his lip, and making me laugh in spite of the situation we found ourselves in.

Madison's feet trailed behind us, one red-heeled Louboutin dropping to the carpet with a quiet thump. I gazed upward, praying to a god that I didn't believe in to grant me serenity. "Can you?" I asked as Kyle graciously took her entire weight, he sagged a little but didn't complain. "I'm inclined to believe her though," I huffed. "Earlier I saw her telling some dickhead with a pop-collar that he was going to be her slave for the night. And then an hour later she swigs a roofie. Probably not a coincidence."

"Like a polo with a pop-collar?" I noted the navy shirt he wore, fitting the bill exactly but chose to ignore it. Kyle was different.

"Yeah," I shrugged, "I guess. And boy band hair. Or something he thought looked like boy band hair. He could have just stuck his finger in an electrical socket." Glancing sideways I noted his dark eyes studying the floor. "Why? You know who I mean?"

"Huh?" Kyle jumped, stumbling out of his momentary reverie. "No, maybe, I don't know," he appeared contrite, bashful. "Sorry." And then he grinned, all boyish and silly and stupid again and my heart thudded to life, racing, heat flushing my cheeks.

What the fuck was wrong with me? One night in New Orleans, at a frat party, and I had become Scarlett O'Hara, swooning? I blamed the fucking house. "Just help me get this bitch outside and I'll call a cab."

We were half carrying, half dragging, Madison's drooling carcass down the steps, the occasional camera phone immortalizing the former child star in all of her glory. She would be viral by the morning, maybe on some blog with a bitchy catchphrase. Perhaps it would reignite her career. Or she'd just be another sad little girl all grown up. Either way, I didn't give a fuck, and she was heavy as shit.

"Uh, Zoe," Kyle started when we were nearly to the door, my arms aching and calves screaming. I had to get my fucking heels off. I shot him a questioning look over the bent head between us. "Could I, like, call you?"

And there it was again, the pounding in my chest, the rush of heated blood in my veins, butterflies knocking around in my guts. Fuck. Was that what they meant by falling? Because it felt like I had vertigo. "Oh," I swallowed, "yeah. Just let me," the door swung open, another riotous group of fraternity brothers storming the building, chanting and whooping. What a bag of dicks.

We snuck out around the hoard and I managed to lay Madison across a vomit-free patch of damp green grass, before dropping down beside her in an exhausted heap. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the humid, fetid air of the city and let my head fall back so that I could gaze up at the few visible stars in the night sky. Kyle lingered, standing awkwardly, hand in the pocket of a ridiculous letterman's jacket. When had he even grabbed that? And fuck, it was way too hot. But he was biting his lip again, locks of that gorgeous hair falling into his eyes, my fingers itched to comb through it.

"Give," I said, putting out my hand and without question he smiled, dropping a flashy electric blue iPhone into my awaiting palm, crashing to the ground beside me, our shoulders knocking.

I typed in my number, my name, and with flaming cheeks and sweaty hands added a puerile heart after the 'e' in Zoe. There was something wrong with me. And it's name was Kyle Spencer. Who happened to have his mouth attached to my fluttering pulse point as it danced under his heavenly tongue.

Beside me, on the other side, there was a groan before Madison turned over and spewed forth a torrent of noxious, vibrant red liquid. "Fuck," she grumbled, swiping at her chin with the back of a hand, "gross."

"Uh, you think?" I returned.

When done puking she twisted toward us, balancing precariously on one thin arm. "Oh, good. You're still here."

"I wasn't just going to leave you to get fucking date raped."

"Yeah," she rolled her glazed eyes, completely unaffected by her circumstances, "thanks. Can we like, go home now?"

Kyle, who's lips had moved onto my ear, tongue tracing along the shell, offered, "Let me call you a cab."

I nearly stammered I was so turned on. "Yeah," I nodded, "okay."

"Thanks, dude I don't know. You're the swellest." And then she was out again, head on the ground, one arm cast out, resting in her vomit, the other folded gracefully across her flat stomach.

"So, that's your best friend, huh?" He asked with a smirk after ringing off with the guy who was coming to collect us.

"Huh," I choked out a dry laugh. "I guess."

"How long have you known her?"

"What time is it?"

His eyes were confused but he glanced down at his phone, "Almost one."

"Then a little over twelve hours."

"Wait, what?" He chuckled.

"Fuck, I know," I sighed. "My best friend is totally shitty."

"But," he cocked his head, a touch of southern twang hidden under a mask of polished, practiced neutrality, "I hear you've got a really hot boyfriend."

Fuck. He was playing right? "Uh…"

And then he was giggling, doubled over. "Oh my god, you should see the fucking look on your face, Zoe. I'm messing with you."

I don't know what made me feel worse: my disappointment or my complete and utter disgust at being disappointed.

A white and green checkered cab pulled up to the curb, honking the horn, before I could answer him and we forced Madison up and into something akin to a standing position, frog-marching her to the car.

"I'll call you," Kyle told me as he closed the door behind us, my friend's cheek mashed up against my shoulder, the smell of sour fruit punch filling my nostrils. I had heard that before. More times than I chose to count.

"Okay," I nodded, smiling, knowing that it didn't quite reach my eyes. "And, thanks."

"For you?" He laughed, "I'd carry a dozen drunk girls around." I giggled, suddenly happy again.

"Night, Kyle," I waved through the open window.

"Night, Zoe!" He returned as we pulled away.

Madison snorted, mumbled, and turned her body further into my own, snuggling, as I draped an arm over her shoulders, getting comfortable.

"No puke in my cab!" The driver called out from the front seat, making me jump as his nervous eyes darted to find mine in the rearview mirror.

"No puke, got it," I agreed, calming down.

"She no puke in my cab," he repeated.

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, I fucking got it. "She won't puke in the fucking cab, okay?" He didn't say anything else and I silently begged my new BFF not to make me a liar. Because her vomit-breath was making me nauseas as it was and if she lost it in the cab as the driver feared, well, he would have two girls puking in his cab, not just one.

Closing my eyes I tried to inhale through my mouth, get my nerves, my pulse, under control. My phone buzzed once, twice. Not a text. I dug around in the tiny black shoulder bag Madison had leant me for the evening, coming up triumphant. I didn't recognize the number but worried for some reason that it was the school calling me, looking for us. Did finishing schools do that kind of shit? What about all of that fucking freedom to just be and grow that they had promised me over tea and cookies?

"Hello," I answered, flustered.

"So, do you want to go out with me tomorrow night?"

"What?" My heart skipped a beat. "Kyle?"

"Yeah. I told you I'd call."

I laughed, letting my eyes slip closed again as I grinned. "Okay. Tomorrow night. But not another frat party."

"Yeah," he agreed. "And leave the movie star at home."

"Deal."


End file.
